


Knocking on Heaven's Door

by Enfilade



Series: South of Heaven [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blood Kink, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gay Robots, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Abuse, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-01-25 03:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: Drift invites Ratchet of New Vaporex to the Festival of Lost Light, but the ghost of Drift's "other self," Dreddlock of New Rodion, haunts their fledgling relationship.  Spoilers for Lost Light #25.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Series: South of Heaven [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1270508
Comments: 156
Kudos: 210





	1. Festival of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This one continues pretty well straight-on from the end of "Heaven Can Wait."

Chapter One: Festival of the Dead 

Drift heard nothing but dead air over his comm unit. 

_Stupid_ . He shouldn’t have invited Ratchet of New Vaporex to the Festival of Lost Light. He ought to have thought more carefully before coming up with this silly plan to see Ratchet, despite how busy he was going to be for the next four weeks on behalf of the Spectralist Temple of Iacon. 

Drift knew full well how Ratchet had once felt about religion. And this Ratchet hadn’t had an interstellar quest in which to get used to Drift practicing meditation each morning or talking about auras or sneaking healing crystals into the medbay. 

Drift was also well aware that New Cybertron hadn’t had a lot of religious diversity at the end of Megatron’s Rebellion. The Functionists had done their best to stamp out faiths other than Functionist Primalism. 

These days, the major religions on New Cybertron were three strains of Primalism, all trying to distance themselves from the Functionists; a form of Locism better described as folk magick; the Cult of the Useless One, which Drift still didn’t entirely grasp; the Way of Flame, imported from Caminus, and a rendition of the Clavix Aurea so mutated by the things it had done to conceal itself under Functionism that it was almost an entirely different religion that just happened to share the same name. 

Drift had also met a number of Spectralist Reconstructionists, who’d tried to rebuild Spectralism during the Rebellion. Their guesses and imaginative interpretations of Spectralist practices had led to an almost unrecognizably different faith as well. Upon arriving at this universe, the majority of the Spectralist Reconstructionists had rapidly converted to “true” Spectralism, but a significant number liked their religion as it was and weren’t inclined to change it. They were currently debating a new name for themselves, so as not to confuse themselves with this universe’s Spectralism. 

Given those facts and Ratchet’s lack of interest in religious matters generally, Drift supposed Ratchet of New Vaporex didn’t know what the Festival of Lost Light actually was. 

“I’m not trying to convert you,” he said hastily. “It’s really more of a cultural festival, with a multi-faith approach, and it’s open to the general public. We incorporated a number of celebrations and observances that take place at this time of year, from both New and Old Cybertron. Pooling resources into one big event let everyone do more than they could as nine or ten separate smaller events. But that’s why it’s almost two weeks long, not even counting the prep or tear-down, and…” 

He was babbling. Time to wrap this up. See if he could still salvage an opportunity to see Ratchet of New Vaporex again. 

“Maybe we could just pick sometime in like, four weeks to get together?” 

Words spilled across the comm link in a rush as Ratchet blurted, “I’d love to come to the festival.” 

Drift’s spark spun with joy, but his old dark instincts prickled a warning at the back of his neck and lit amber caution lights in the corners of his vision. It took him a moment to parse why. 

“Um…is it okay that people who knew my conjunx will be there?” 

“Having second thoughts, kid?” Ratchet sounded jovial, teasing, but Drift thought he caught an undercurrent of sadness. 

“No. I told you last night, I don’t care what anybody else thinks.” He paused. “But I remember you weren’t ready to meet Chromedome and Rewind last night.” 

“Okay. If someone asks you who I am, and what I’m doing with you, what are you going to tell them?” 

“Me?” Drift spluttered. Ratchet had put him on the spot. He wished he’d asked Ratchet first, but it was too late for that now. He was going to have to answer the hard question. “I’d tell them that you’re the newly retired Head Medical Administrator Ratchet of New Vaporex and that we’re getting to know each other. That sound fair?” 

“That sounds like a non-answer, kid.” 

“It’s not their business.” 

Ratchet sighed. “Yeah, I suppose not. Anyway, I can work with that.” 

“Huh?” 

“What you just said. If anyone asks. I’ll tell them what you just told me.” 

Drift hesitated, sensing some frustration in Ratchet’s voice. “Is there something else you want to say instead?” 

“Nah, it’s good. So. What parts of this festival am I going to see, and is there anything I should know beforehand?” 

“Let me pull up the schedule.” Drift did so on his datapad and scanned it, noting the times when he’d be too busy working to socialize, and skimming the list of events to find things that Ratchet might be interested in. “There’s some good stuff three days from now. Most of my work is in the morning. So, if you show up around noon, we could get some fuel at the Exchange Tent. Groups representing different cities and cultures from both Cybertrons are offering sample sizes of their best known fuel blends. We fill up there, and then in the afternoon, we can walk around, check out the displays, and go to any events that you think look interesting. I have to lead an open meditation in the early evening, so, if you want to see what I do, that would be your chance. Then there’s lanterns and light displays until we’re ready to go home, and if we stay late enough, there’s fireworks too.” 

“Sure, kid. Let’s do this.” 

Drift held his breath. It sounded too good to be true. 

_Means it probably is._

But like a character in a dream, he found himself utterly powerless to do anything to stave off the trouble he knew was coming. 

# 

Drift felt as though he’d been split into several people, all coexisting in the same frame. 

_One _ Drift was having a great time at the Festival of Lost Light. Truthfully, only a few days ago, he’d felt as though he’d never be truly happy ever again. It seemed odd, almost wrong, that he was so happy today. Walking around the festival with Ratchet of New Vaporex, sampling different fuel blends, chatting and laughing, looking at displays where various groups of Cybertronians had chosen to highlight unique aspects of their cultures …it seemed like such a simple entertainment. Yet Drift couldn’t ask for anything more. The war was over, Ratchet was at his side, and they were both smiling. What more could he want out of life? 

The _other _Drift was certain that this Golden Age couldn’t last. 

_That’s not Ratty_ , he said again and again, but Happy Drift didn’t seem to care. He apparently liked Ratchet of New Vaporex an awful lot. Having found something good, he was going to hang onto it tooth and nail, just as he had in his gutter days—logic and reason be damned. 

Other Drift had to be there to pick up the pieces when everything went to hell. Other Drift was a survivor, and he’d lived in that gutter too. There, he’d learned how to let his instincts pick up on subtle clues that his conscious mind missed. He turned his instincts loose on Ratchet of New Vaporex to see what conclusions would shake out. The results were concerning. 

Drift hadn’t seen anyone looking surprised at the sight of him and Ratchet of New Vaporex together. Intentionally or not, Drift had been avoiding everyone who knew him well enough to do a double take at his current companion. He wondered if it was because he himself didn’t want to be reminded that this wasn’t his long time conjunx. 

Drift knew there was no future in a relationship where Ratchet of New Vaporex was Drift’s dirty little secret. 

Definitely no future in a relationship where Drift imagined his new companion to be someone he wasn’t. 

The problem was that Ratchet of New Vaporex made pretending entirely too _easy_. He was just so…_agreeable_. Drift had to really push to get him to offer up any ideas of his own. He was happy to go with the flow and do whatever Drift suggested. 

Then another voice saw fit to weigh in on the discussion. 

A voice that had been very much enjoying the company of a more passive Ratchet. 

_You could do anything you want with him_ , Deadlock said. _ Look at him. He’s practically begging you to take him. He’s not going to keep you in line like the last Ratchet did. _

_ Take whatever you want. Take his money. Take his fuel. Take his life. _

A bolt of heat shot through Drift’s circuits, making him gasp. 

_Interface, even._

Drift hadn’t been ready for a thought like that, and it blindsided him. His dark urges had never been particularly interested in interface before. His time in the gutters had taught him that interface was, at best, a commodity to be traded. At worst, it was something that was done _to _him. 

Deadlock had not meditated on his former self’s confusing feelings for the medic who had saved his life. Deadlock simply interpreted those feelings as _protectiveness_; an interpretation that was clean and simple, sharp like the edge of a blade. 

Drift knew those feelings were a lot more complex. 

And for his shadow side to be feeling them now—things like _attraction _and _desire _and, yes, _lust_—was disturbing. Deadlock hungered for security and power and the release of anger through violence, and he had a taste for siphoned fuel. Deadlock had never wanted to _frag _for its own sake before. 

Deadlock wanted Ratchet of New Vaporex. 

_You know he wouldn’t stop you._

_Take him. You know you want him._

There was a sudden powerful surge of agreement from Happy Drift, and _that _left Drift reeling, that both his light and shadow self were united in what they desired, and what they wanted was… Primus help him, Deadlock wanted to frag Ratchet, Happy Drift wanted to be fragged _by _Ratchet, and each had convinced the other to enjoy whichever scenario Ratchet of New Vaporex was most amenable to trying first. 

Except for one small problem. 

The part of Drift that was still in control was certain that this was a terrible idea, even though he wasn’t certain how long he could hold out in what suddenly felt like a two front war against both the light and dark aspects of his own character. 


	2. Right Here

Chapter Two: Right Here 

Ratchet of New Vaporex hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Drift of Rodion had done more than just save his life. He’d given him a life worth living. 

It had been a long time since Ratchet had gone out to a festival, longer still since the outing hadn’t been a pretext for a meeting with some high-ranking dignitary who’d wanted the illusion of a taste of local colour while conducting business. He’d even avoided the party at the end of the war by deliberately covering other people’s duty shifts. At the time, he’d told himself that his colleagues deserved to have fun, while he had nobody who’d even notice he was missing. 

Now, Ratchet of New Vaporex felt as though he’d died a long time ago, and somehow, the Spectralist priest at his side had worked a miracle and brought him back to life. 

Such fanciful thoughts weren’t like him. But when Ratchet glanced sideways and saw Drift’s optics sparkling in the light of the lanterns overhead, the silly notions multiplied exponentially. 

It was almost enough to make him forget that it was Dreddlock under that smile. 

Even that thought couldn’t cause Ratchet as much concern as it ought to. Everything came with a price, and sooner or later, a bill would come due for the good time he’d had today. His tank was full of exotic fuel blends, his face ached from smiling so much, and his spark felt as though it might glow right through his chest. It was right that something so precious be expensive. And what could Drift take that Dreddlock hadn’t, other than Ratchet’s life? 

Would even that matter? Drift had saved Ratchet’s life, so it was his to do with as he wished. That, too, Ratchet could accept. 

Still, his spark ached when he sat in the very back row during Drift’s open meditation. All around him, Spectralist devotees and curious truthseekers sat with their optics dimmed and their arms outstretched in intricate mudras. Ratchet had given up mirroring the gestures. He’d thought he was content to watch. 

Instead, he’d spent half the meditation thinking about how beautiful Drift was, and the other half thinking about the ramifications of that attraction. 

_I’m really going to have to take some responsibility here._

Ratchet had been waiting for Drift to make a move on him—the way Dreddlock used to—and Drift had been nothing but a gentleman. 

_And I’m not relieved. I’m disappointed._

Ratchet suddenly realized that his feelings and Dreddlock’s actions were two entirely separate issues. First, Ratchet’s attraction didn’t justify any of Dreddlock’s unacceptable behaviour. Secondly, since Drift was taking things slow, Ratchet was going to have to come to terms with his own desires, instead of focusing his attention on trying to keep Dreddlock in check. 

_What if this Drift doesn’t like me that way?_

The thought froze Ratchet’s spark in his chest. 

_Of course he does. The other you was his long time conjunx._

But that statement assumed that Ratchet of New Vaporex was half the mech his counterpart had been. Ratchet of Vaporex hadn’t bowed to Pharma’s bullying. He’d stayed CMO, through four million years of war. Futhermore, he’d joined that war on the right side from the very beginning, rather than spending so much time trying to pretend he was “neutral” while the side he repaired gleefully abused their power. Then, when the war was over, he’d dared to join a wild quest to find the Knights of Cybertron, opened a Matrix, and helped to save a universe. 

What had Ratchet of New Vaporex done? 

A lot of paperwork, and a few centuries of field repairs. 

Rank, skill, and social acclaim could have an aphrodisiac effect. Maybe that was what had attracted Drift to his conjunx. 

Then what about those things Drift had said about their first fateful meeting in the underground clinic in Rodion? 

Ratchet watched Drift leading his congregation, marvelling at how the leaker he’d met in the Dead End had grown into this well-respected religious leader, and another thought occurred to him. 

Drift’s counterpart had been a Dreddbot. On New Cybertron it had been both accepted and encouraged for Dreddbots to use their rank and physical power to strike fear into civilians and keep them in line. Dreddlock’s behaviour had been excessive in its degree rather than in its fundamental nature. Dreadlock had not been made vicious by his job; his job had simply provided an outlet for his viciousness. Dreddlock’s perversion had been in his fixation on Ratchet rather than on his cruelty. 

A Spectralist priest could not hope to get away with the same behaviour. Not in public. 

That would explain why Drift had been on such good behaviour in Maccadam’s, and on the walk home, and all day today. 

It might also explain why Drift had bolted away down the hallway of Ratchet’s apartment building rather than try to invite himself in. 

Ratchet knew all too well what darkness lurked under the priest’s serene façade. This Drift would have to wait for a chance to get Ratchet alone before he dared to let it out. 

Ratchet should be relieved. After this, there would be the lanterns and fireworks—a public event. Then all he had to do was make sure he went home alone. It might even be safe to let Drift escort him again, so long as he didn’t let Drift through his apartment door. 

The only problem with that was that Ratchet didn’t particularly feel like being _safe_. 

No, Drift had brought Ratchet back to life, and now Ratchet wanted to feel what it was like to be alive, the wonder and the terror brought together in that impossible cocktail that only Dreddlock—Drift—could provide. 

The only way he could get _that _was by finding a way to get himself alone with Drift. 

The rest of the meditation passed by in a blur. Ratchet spent the time arguing with himself, trying to talk himself out of it, admitting how stupid he was being, and somehow all the while he was thinking of ways and places that he and Drift could be alone. Should he outright _ask _ Drift to take him somewhere private? Or should he wait until the end of the evening and try to coax Drift into his apartment? 

He wasn’t familiar with this area. Drift would know all the little hidden nooks and corners where two mechs could be alone together, out of sight of passersby. _Dreddlock _would have already taken advantage of those nooks. Drift was too much of a decent person, and Ratchet should be _happy _about that, but instead his thoughts were right straight in the gutter, as if a mech like him could _ever _rate someone like the priest without riding on the coattails of his far more handsome and accomplished deceased conjunx, what with his streamlined rebuild and his list of accolades… 

“Ratchet?” said a voice overhead. 

Ratchet startled. His optics focused on Drift’s torso and stared entirely too long before he was able to tear his gaze away and glance upwards. 

Drift smiled down at him. “Wow, you must have really gotten into it.” 

Ratchet didn’t want to say that the meditation had nothing to do with his trancelike state. 

“Don’t worry. It’s pretty normal. You weren’t the first person I had to help back to the present reality.” 

Ratchet looked around, noticing that the room was empty. “But I’m the last.” 

“Yeah. Save the best for last, and all that.” 

Shakily, Ratchet rose to his feet. There was nobody else in the room, and he knew all too well what that might mean. “Now what?” 

“Take a deep breath and ground yourself. In through the vents…hold it…out as exhaust. Good. Again. In through the vents…” 

This exercise was stupid, but of course he let Drift push him around. Of course he did. 

“Feel better?” 

Ratchet didn’t want to admit that the breathing exercise seemed to have worked. Or maybe his equilibrium circuitry had just needed a little time to activate. “I suppose.” 

“If we want a good seat for the fireworks, we should probably go now. The hillside is going to fill up quickly and I’d hate to get stuck having to stand for the entire thing.” 

Much to his shock, Ratchet found himself walking out of the building and back onto the crowded streets, with Drift at his side, chattering away about how happy he’d been with the session he’d just led. Ratchet found himself more worried than relieved. He might have to resort to _inviting Drift in_, but Drift might be tired after the fireworks, and Drift also had to work tomorrow, and that was also assuming that Drift would be willing to drive home with him _and _that he’d hang around long enough for Ratchet to get a word in edgewise instead of just taking off like he had last time. 

So when Ratchet noticed a small dark alley in between the buildings up ahead, he made the most of the opportunity he’d been given. 

“Can we…can I tell you something in private?” he asked, with a meaningful glance at the alley, and one voice in his head telling him he was an idiot and another squealing with anticipation. 

“Sure,” Drift said, dropping his prior conversation. “Everything okay?” 

“I think so,” Ratchet replied, all the while shocked at himself for being so bold, but also secure that, good idea or not, this was what he wanted. 

Ratchet took Drift’s hand. Pulled him into the alley, where the lantern light couldn’t pierce the shadows. Tugged him closer. 

“Hey,” Ratchet said, his voice low. “I know what you want.” 

Drift looked down at him, his expression unreadable. 

Ratchet tapped the area where his collar fairing met the side of his neck. Where a big fuel line ran just underneath his soft hide. “Right here, kid.” 


	3. Dark Alley

Chapter Three: Dark Alley

Drift had been desperately afraid that Ratchet of New Vaporex just wanted to be friends.

It wasn’t as though Drift didn’t want a friend. Primus knew he didn’t have all that many. Members of his congregation were not quite the same as personal friends. 

It wasn’t as though Drift didn’t care about Ratchet of New Vaporex, or wouldn’t be willing to accept whatever kind of connection Ratchet wanted or needed from him.

But in the entirety of their day today, Ratchet had acted exactly like a mech who was out to socialize with an acquaintance, not a mech who was on a date with a potential courtmate. Not even once did Ratchet try to touch him. Drift hadn’t caught Ratchet looking at him, admiring him, either. In a whole day of conversation, nothing even the slightest bit flirtatious had passed from Ratchet’s lips. 

Drift reminded himself that _he _might have had a hopeless crush since their first meeting in Rodion, but for Ratchet, that meeting had been purely professional. Ratchet had seen and repaired so many skivs and leakers and addicts that Drift would surely have been just one more entry on a long and tragic list.

_You were the special one_, Drift argued, but maybe Ratty’s recollections had been tinted by the events at Delphi. Or perhaps the two universes had diverged a little earlier than anyone had expected, and so while Ratchet of Vaporex had seen something precious in the leaker that Orion Pax had deposited on his slab, maybe Ratchet of New Vaporex had not.

So Drift had been letting Ratchet of New Vaporex take the lead in deciding what he wanted their relationship to be. Drift would content himself with the company while he tried to sort out in his own mind whether he was genuinely attracted to the Functionist Universe’s Head Administrative Officer, or whether he was deluding himself into a misguided crush on someone who just happened to sound, and smell, and seem like his deceased conjunx.

Today had been a lot of fun, and yet nowhere near enough to satisfy Drift’s hopes. Every time Drift looked at Ratchet, he felt like a starving mech who nevertheless was being given rationed meals so small as to only increase his hunger.

Then out of nowhere, on their way to the park to watch the fireworks, Ratchet took Drift’s hand and pulled him into a small alley in between two buildings. It was narrow and dark and smelled somewhat damp. Garbage collected around their feet. The place was dirty and not at all romantic.

Drift didn’t care.

“I know what you want,” Ratchet murmured in a low, throaty voice, and Drift’s fuel pump skipped a beat.

Still, Drift stood frozen, because _knowing _and _allowing _weren’t the same, and Drift was too afraid he’d misunderstood to summon the courage to ask for clarity.

Ratchet tapped the area where his collar fairing met the side of his neck. “Right here, kid.”

Drift felt his spark stop—then burst to life, spinning madly in his chest.

It didn’t occur to him to question the instruction. This directive was just so…so _Ratchet_…that Drift could do nothing else but comply.

He moved close, bent his head, and pressed his lips to the indicated spot.

Ratchet was tense. Drift could feel the tension in the other mech’s frame as he closed one hand over Ratchet’s hip and wrapped the other around Ratchet’s back. He licked the spot, then sucked on it gently as he used his hand on Ratchet’s back to seek out the sensitive places that he knew were there. This wasn’t the frame that his Ratchet had worn for their life together as conjunx endura, but Drift still remembered where the sweet spots were, and how Ratchet reacted when Drift touched them.

Ratchet gasped. He sagged back against the wall, and Drift closed his arms around him a little more firmly, easing him back against the side of the alleyway. Ratchet sighed softly, melting against Drift.

Drift’s fans clicked on. He didn’t even try to stop them. Why shouldn’t Ratchet know that he liked this turn of events? 

Though he wasn’t sure about this neck-kissing business. It seemed an odd place to start a kiss. His old vices weren’t helping, as they so helpfully reminded him that Ratchet had a big fuel line right under his tender hide in that place, and maybe he could take a taste?

Drift was long over his shame at being a syphonist, but he wasn’t about to subject Ratchet to his big, taboo kink immediately after their first kiss. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was scare Ratchet away. He needed to be gentle, to keep this interaction sweet and tender.

Even Deadlock didn’t object when Drift let his lips travel away from Ratchet’s collar fairing, up the side of his neck. Drift’s dark side wanted something else. Wanted to kiss Ratchet hard and deep, wanted to press him up against the wall, wanted to hear him moan and beg…

And if Ratchet turned the tables on him? Drift was fine with that, too.

Something nagged at the back of Drift’s mind. Something about how his conjunx had always kept Drift in line. Ratchet spoke, Drift listened, and Drift had liked it. Sometimes it wasn’t easy to keep himself under control, and Ratchet’s calm but firm authority helped.

But this wasn’t his conjunx, and Drift didn’t want to think about the past right now.

Not when he lifted his head, took aim on his target, and softly pressed his lips to Ratchet’s.

Ratchet inhaled sharply at the last possible moment before he surrendered to the kiss.

Drift tried not to whimper. He’d wanted this so much. 

But a moment later, he realized something was wrong.

Ratchet’s fans weren’t on. 

Ratchet was letting Drift kiss him, but he wasn’t kissing back.

Drift recoiled. Pain felt like a dagger through his spark. “What’s wrong?” Drift whispered.

Ratchet lifted a shaky hand to his lips. “That’s what you want?”

Drift cringed. “What…what were you thinking about?”

Ratchet dropped the hand to his neck fairing. “Thought you’d want a taste.”

So that really had been a syphoning invitation. Drift frowned. “Ratchet, you’re still in recovery from spark burnout. Your systems don’t need the added stress of someone drinking from your lines.”

Yet his fuel pump pounded. Drift hadn’t even thought about how to talk about his taboo kink with his new companion, and here Ratchet was, just offering it to him? “That’s not a _no_,” Drift said quickly, lest this opportunity escape, lest Ratchet misunderstand. “It’s a _not now_. Not until First Aid gives you a clean bill of health.”

Ratchet looked up at him, and his optics seemed to plead for something that Drift didn’t understand.

“Besides,” Drift said, sidling uncomfortably, “don’t you think it’s a little soon? To go straight to syphoning…that’s pretty intimate, you know?”

“You just wanted to kiss me,” Ratchet whispered.

Drift nodded, wondering why it felt so wrong to admit it. Because he was a recent widower? Or because Ratchet said it as though he were surprised that Drift didn’t want to tear open his fuel lines in this filthy alley?

A spark ignited in Drift’s belly.

There was one easy explanation for why Ratchet would think about him that way. A topic that had been neatly avoided at Maccadam’s. Drift had told Ratchet all about the things he’d done as a member of the Decepticons, but Ratchet had never told him about Dreddlock, or how his counterpart had died.

“Is that what _he_ wanted?” Drift said, shocked by the snarl in his voice, unable to stop it as words poured from his mouth. “Dreddlock, I mean?”


	4. Security

Chapter Four: Security 

Ratchet felt his whole world collapsing around him as he dropped his gaze to the alley’s dirty pavement. 

“I have been so unfair to you,” he whispered through lips gone dry. 

_You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve him at all. _

_ He deserves his Ratchet, his accomplished and well-loved conjunx, and you…you pathetic thing…you deserved Dreddlock, didn’t you? _

“Listen to me.” Drift grabbed Ratchet’s hands and squeezed them, not enough to hurt, but sharply enough for Ratchet’s gaze to jump to Drift’s optics. Once there, he could not tear it away. Drift’s optics shimmered with emotion and pain. “I’m never, ever going to hurt you. Understand?” 

Ratchet nodded helplessly. 

“I don’t know what that other me did to you, but I’m not him, and I’m never going to be. _Yes_, I want what you’re offering, but not now, not yet, and not nearly as much as I want you to be with me, and…” Drift licked his lips. “Even _that_, I want you to be happy most of all. And my biggest fear is that you’ll be happier without me.” 

Ratchet reached up his hands and placed them on Drift’s cheeks. Drift didn’t flinch, didn’t bite, didn’t pull away. His face felt warm under Ratchet’s touch. 

Oh, let his whole world collapse. Ratchet wouldn’t miss it anyway. His past had been filled with loneliness. The people who he should have been able to trust had let him down, time and again, until he’d turned to Dreddlock to fill his empty spaces, thinking that was the best he’d ever have. 

“I will never be happier without you,” he said, and meant it. 

Oh, he didn’t dare kiss Drift—not Dreddlock, but that lost soul in the Dead End who’d finally found himself and learned to shine, and oh, he was glorious, and he could surely have his pick of handsome mechs now, but he wanted Ratchet instead, boring old HMA (retired) Ratchet of New Vaporex. 

Ratchet of New Vaporex who was not going to let the light of his life slip away from him. 

He leaned forward, his lips brushing Drift’s, and folded his hands around the speedster’s waist. 

A moment later, Drift returned the kiss. 

And an instant after that, a very bright spotlight blinded Ratchet’s vision, even though he’d dimmed his optics. Ratchet recoiled instinctively, breaking the kiss, as an amplified voice demanded, “IACON SECURITY. STATE YOUR DESIGNATION AND BUSINESS.” 

Drift stepped forward, placing himself between Ratchet and the mech wielding the spotlight. “Damn it, Dogfight, turn that off!” 

The light went out. Ratchet found himself illuminated by a standard shoulder-mounted flashlight, which was plenty bright enough, but at least it didn’t hurt his optics like the spotlight did. 

“Well, if it isn’t Drift.” A silhouette with long wings swaggered into the alley. Ratchet didn’t know this Dogfight person, but he knew the type. The Functionist enforcers had walked like that. “Why am I not surprised to find you hanging around a back alley? Hey, who’s your dealer?” 

As Ratchet’s vision returned, he saw Dogfight craning his neck, trying to see around Drift, and Drift planting himself firmly in Dogfight’s path. “No law saying we can’t be here,” Drift retorted. 

“That depends,” Dogfight drawled, “on what you’re buying and selling back here.” 

“Fine,” Drift snapped, crossing his arms. “Search me. You won’t find any drugs.” 

Dogfight whistled lowly. “So _that’s _what you’re selling,” he sneered, while his optics swept over Drift’s frame and made his insinuation obvious. 

Ratchet felt an uncharacteristic rage flaring deep in his spark. 

Drift had worked so hard to get past his origins. Born as overstock – number 501 in what should have been a production run of 500 cold constructed mechanisms – he’d almost been murdered by factory overseers who didn’t want anyone to know they’d accidentally made one more person than they’d planned. Out on the street, with no job, no money and no role in a Functionist society, he’d survived by doing whatever it took to keep fuel in his tanks. Dreddlock had told him, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that the drugs had come later. That his first dose was a gift from a fellow leaker, intended to provide a respite from the agony of trauma and the relentless pain of daily living. 

Drift and the mech who became Dreddlock were the same person, then. Drift, unlike Dreddlock, had not let his past destroy his future. Drift absolutely did not deserve to have his origins thrown in his face by a swaggering, sneering bully of a Iaconian Security patroller. 

Ratchet stormed up beside Drift, despite Drift’s attempt to keep himself in between Ratchet and Dogfight. He glowered at Dogfight with all the vehemence he could muster. 

Much to his surprise, the security patroller actually lowered his flashlight and took a step backwards. Ratchet could see Dogfight’s hands trembling as his face fell into an expression of dismay. “I…I thought you were dead,” Dogfight stammered. 

From the corner of his optic, Ratchet saw Drift wince. 

Drift didn’t need his conjunx’s death thrown in his face either. Ratchet reached into his subspace, withdrew his datapad, and called up his identification files. He thrust the pad screen-first towards Dogfight. 

Dogfight accepted it and stared at the screen. “Head Administration Officer (retired) Ratchet of New Vaporex…” The corner of his mouth lifted in an ugly grin. “Wow. Your conjunx’s spark isn’t even cold and here you are fragging his counterpart,” he said to Drift. “You have really not wasted any time, have you?” 

Absolutely the last thing Ratchet wanted was to listen to this bully guilt-tripping Drift about kissing someone who wasn’t his conjunx. His concern for Drift and his own selfish wants came together in a volatile cocktail that pushed Ratchet over the edge. Patience at an end, he did something he hadn’t done for many years. Something Megatron had taught him during the war. 

Ratchet extended a set of medical tools from his fingertips, reached out, grabbed Dogfight by the shoulder, and growled in his audio. “If he _had _, I’d be _dying _right now. My life is _still _ too short for this slag. Either charge us with something or go find some actual crime to deter.” 

Shaken by his own behaviour, Ratchet shoved Dogfight away, before he could do what he’d intended to do. 

Dogfight winced, rubbing at his shoulder. “I don’t understand what you see in that Decepticon, Doc.” He shrugged, turned away. He didn’t seem to understand what Ratchet had almost done to him. “Your funeral,” he shot back over his shoulder. “Again.” 

Ratchet glanced over at Drift. “You okay, kid?” 

Drift let out a slow breath through his vents. “Yeah. Dogfight’s just a bully and an all-around aft. Wasn’t the first to call me names, won’t be the last.” Ratchet noticed Drift slowly uncurling his fists. “But I really wanted to…” 

“Yeah, I know.” Ratchet waggled his fingers as he put his tools away. “I almost put a shock through his systems strong enough to knock him out for the rest of the night. Figured it’d cause more trouble than it’s worth if I knocked out a security patroller. Might be hard to keep my recovery on track in a prison cell.” 

“Definitely. People like that aren’t worth the trip to jail after you beat them up. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.” 

“It’s the truth, kid.” 

Ratchet looked sidelong at Drift as they emerged from the alley. He couldn’t help notice that Drift was gorgeous—not in the _too attractive for his own good _manner of the Rodion leaker, nor in the cruel beauty of Dreddlock, either. Drift had overcome his origins and made it through the darkness that had claimed his alternate counterpart, and grown into the Spectralist priest with the striking red facepaint. This mech didn’t need to be infantalized by a condescending ex-medic. 

“I guess I should stop doing that,” Ratchet said slowly. 

Drift looked startled. “Doing what?” 

“Calling you kid.” 

Ratchet wasn’t ready for the look of dismay that came over Drift’s face. 


	5. Seeing Fireworks

Chapter Five: Seeing Fireworks 

_I guess I should stop calling you kid_ . 

Drift’s spark ached. That was the last thing he wanted—for Ratchet to stop. 

“It’s not fair to you,” Ratchet continued. “You’re not some helpless dependent, you’re not my apprentice, and you’re not that much younger than I am. I should save _kid _for the Lunarians.” 

“You don’t have to stop,” Drift said quickly as they turned onto the main sidewalk. “I like when you call me that.” 

Ratchet looked unconvinced. 

“Ratty called me that,” Drift murmured. 

A flicker of pain passed through Ratchet’s optics. Drift wondered if this was the future ahead of them: the two of them inadvertently hurting each other, over and over again. 

_I can take it._

But could Ratchet? Or should he feel he needed to? 

Ratchet tried to hide his response. “Are you going to call me that?” he asked lightly. “Ratty?”   
That innocent question felt like a sword to the gut. 

Drift shook his head. “I can’t. That…” He tried to articulate the reason for his aversion. “It would be too much like trying to pretend you and him were the same person. You aren’t as cranky or as, um, ratty as Ratty was. Though you started getting close to it just now with Dogfight,” Drift added with a smile, but the jibe fell flat. 

“Is that a reason I shouldn’t call you kid?” Ratchet asked softly. “Because it would make me too much like him in your optics?” 

“You called me that in the Dead End while you were putting me back together. I know you’re not doing it to try to be like my conjunx.” Drift took a deep breath. “But if you struggle to separate the me you used to know from the me I am now, then I can understand why you might not want to call me that.” 

“Honestly?” Ratchet glanced at him sidelong. “After what happened in that alley, you and Dreddlock have never felt more different.” 

Drift bit his lip. “Given that you still go to Dreddlock’s grave to remember him…is that good or bad?” 

“It means I can do this and not feel guilty.” 

Drift gasped as Ratchet reached over and took his hand, slowly rubbing his thumb against the side of Drift’s wrist. 

“Where are we heading?” Ratchet asked, and though it seemed like a change of subject, Ratchet’s intense gaze made Drift think that maybe it wasn’t. 

“T-the park,” Drift stammered, shaken by the change. Up until the alleyway, Ratchet had been acting like a casual friend. Someone who’d call Drift to pal around with. Drift had been attempting to convince himself that a new friend would be a positive addition to his life; a new friend certainly wouldn’t involve all the problematic complications of dating a mech who was the parallel universe counterpart of Drift’s recently deceased conjunx endura. 

Then Ratchet had issued his invitation, and they’d ended up kissing, and any thought of casual friendship flew right out the window. 

Drift needed Ratchet, just as he always had. 

In the cold, cloying, empty fog that was his life since his conjunx’s death, Drift needed Ratchet more than ever. Ratchet’s sudden interest in _him _felt like a lifeline. 

But why the sudden change? 

Drift hesitated in mid-step. Ratchet stopped too. Drift lifted his free hand and pointed to the park up ahead: an open space with a gentle slope, where mechs clustered in pairs, trios, and small groups, sitting down and stretching out flat, waiting for the fireworks to start. 

“I wouldn’t call it crowded,” Drift said slowly, “_yet_, but a lot of the good spots are already taken.” 

There were still more mechs arriving, too. Drift eyed the people around him on the sidewalks and roads. If even half these people wanted to sit in the park, it wouldn’t be long before there wouldn’t be room for a pair of mechs to lie down side by side. They’d have to sit up and move over and make space for late arrivals. 

Everything they did together, other people would see. 

“It’s not exactly private, is it?” Drift asked, with a sidelong glance at Ratchet. 

Funny. This morning he’d chosen the park simply _because _it was public. The kind of place he could take Ratchet of New Vaporex without the other mech feeling as though Drift was pushing him into a romantic situation. 

He’d not made a plan for what to do if Ratchet suddenly warmed up to romance, really, _really _quickly. Drift hadn’t thought he’d ever be so lucky. 

He especially didn’t want to feel _hesitance _from the corner of his mind where Deadlock lived. 

Fortunately, both sides of himself were going to like the solution. He couldn’t ask what was going on with Ratchet here in public. Ratchet would be more comfortable talking about it in private. If Ratchet’s answer soothed Drift’s concern, as he hoped it would, they would already be in a cozy romantic setting. 

And Drift knew just the place. 

“Is there anywhere we can go where your buddy Dogfight won’t interrupt?” Ratchet asked. 

“Yeah,” Drift said slowly. “It would mean going back the way we came.” 

Ratchet spun around so quickly that he almost knocked Drift off balance, on account of the fact that he was still holding onto Drift’s hand. Even with Drift’s warrior’s reflexes, he needed to move fast to stay on his feet. Ratchet realized what he’d done a little too late, and looked as though he were about to mumble an apology, but Drift started laughing, and a moment later, Ratchet joined in. 

Drift led Ratchet back through the crowd to the side of the Spectralist Temple, where he used his passcode to gain admittance to a side door. “The roof,” Drift explained when Ratchet looked at him questioningly. “We can see the fireworks from the meditation garden on the roof.” 

“And we’re not going to get interrupted by security.” 

“I already sent them a message to tell them I was up there…” He hesitated. “Meditating.” 

Ratchet grinned. “Meditating. Really?”   
Drift badly wanted to make a joke about showing Ratchet a spiritual experience of his choice, but he was afraid to be too suggestive, lest he ruin the good thing he had going. If Ratchet didn’t want to go all the way, well, that was probably the wiser decision, considering how recently they’d gotten together. Yet Drift wasn’t entirely certain he’d stop him if he did. Excitement fizzed in Drift’s fuel tank as he led Ratchet up to the roof. 

The meditation garden was pretty in the day cycle, when the lights on the buildings nearby shone through the crystals and cast a myriad of rainbows on the stone walkway, the ornate metal railings, the meditation cushions, the benches, and anyone who happened to be passing through the garden. This evening, most of the lights had been turned off: it conserved energy to use less illumination during the rest period, and the fireworks would be better visible if Iacon wasn’t lit up all night. A few softly glowing navigation lights provided just enough illumination for Drift and Ratchet to find their way. 

Drift guided Ratchet to the largest of the meditation cushions and urged him to sit. Ratchet didn’t hesitate or ask for a bench instead. He was a little awkward as he dropped down onto the big, soft cushion next to Drift, but Drift found it cute. Drift smiled invitingly, hoping to dispel any embarrassment that Ratchet might feel. 

Ratchet seemed to take that smile as indicative of a different kind of intent, because he placed his palm gently over Drift’s left cheek. 

Drift leaned closer, planning to tell Ratchet that there was no rush, but no sooner had he opened his mouth than Ratchet’s lips closed over his. 

Well. Drift could work with this. 

The voices in his head plaguing him all day were silent. Even Sober Second Thought Drift had nothing to say. Ratchet had initiated this, and Ratchet clearly wanted this just as much as Drift did. 

Drift wasn’t sure how long they kissed, or when their position changed from sitting side by side to lying down with their arms around one another. It took the first of the fireworks to startle Drift out of his reverie. He didn’t see the light in the sky, but the echoing sound that followed it was reminiscent enough of a gunshot to startle him. 

Ratchet looked at him questioningly. 

“You should look up,” Drift said, “or you’re going to miss the fireworks.” 

“Really?” Ratchet’s fingers brushed a whispered caress over Drift’s cheek. “Cause I’ve been seeing fireworks for three or four breems now.” 

The only response that Drift could muster was a fool’s grin. A second later, Drift saw a brilliant bloom of coloured light reflected in Ratchet’s optics. 


	6. Step In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's to all my fellow Dratchet lovers!
> 
> *

Chapter Six: Step In 

“Ratchet, it’s time to wake up.” 

Ratchet groaned. He didn’t want to wake up. He knew where he’d be—asleep at his desk in the hospital. Again. 

Why was he so fatigued lately? It felt like the war all over again. Except that during the war, he’d been tending to the injured around the clock while trying to remember, and use, medical techniques he hadn’t used for two million years or more, thanks to his pre-war career as Head Administrative Officer. During the war he’d had reason to be tired. 

He didn’t want to be worn-out HMA Ratchet falling asleep at his desk. Dream Ratchet had been making out with Drift of Rodion underneath a sky filled with fireworks, and Ratchet would rather live in that mech’s life a little while longer. 

Funny how his sleeping brain had cast Drift as a Spectralist priest. Though, on second thought, perhaps it wasn’t that funny after all. His mind had picked up on society’s image of a good person and cast this ideal Drift as a priest instead of a Dreddbot. 

“Ratchet,” said the voice more urgently. Ratchet felt someone shaking his shoulder. His body felt heavy and sluggish; his mind felt as though it were being pulled back into his physical frame, though of course that was a fanciful notion. It was simply that wakefulness stimulated the parts of his nervous system that allowed him to feel awareness of his body. 

Ratchet illuminated one optic. 

And sat up straight, his other optic coming online in a burst of light as he saw elegant red facepaint on a handsome and smiling face so close to his. 

“Drift,” Ratchet stammered, reaching up to Drift’s chest, needing as many senses as possible to confirm that his optics weren’t lying to him. 

“The fireworks are over,” Drift said, taking Ratchet’s hand in his. He felt warm, firm, _real_. “You fell asleep.” 

Ratchet looked around. He was lying on his back, Drift sitting beside him, on a meditation cushion on the roof of the Spectralist Temple. At least he hadn’t fallen asleep during the actual making out. They’d stopped to watch the fireworks, and it was then, with the taste of Drift’s lips on his, that Ratchet had dozed off. 

“Oh, kid,” Ratchet said, forgetting that he’d intended to stop using that nickname. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It was a big day. Maybe too much.” 

“No.” Ratchet struggled to sit up. He didn’t want today to have been too much. He didn’t want Drift to be afraid to ask him out again. 

“You need your rest.” Drift ran his free hand down Ratchet’s cheek. “You need to get better so we can do this sort of thing for a long time to come.” 

Which was the best reason Ratchet had ever heard to put up with the annoyingly long list of restrictions that First Aid and Flatline had stuck him with. Still, Ratchet felt dismayed. He hadn’t been ready for their evening together to be over so quickly. 

Ratchet sat up and almost swooned. The rooftop with its gleaming crystals spun around him until his sensors came fully online and recalibrated. He raised a hand to his forehead. “Just a minute…just need a minute and then I can head back home.” 

He was about to apologize for ending the…date?...so soon and so quickly, but Drift spoke first. “It’s a long drive back to Adaptica.” 

Which Ratchet was well aware of. By Primus, he was tired. He wasn’t looking forward to making such a long drive. Flatline would absolutely not approve. “Maybe I should get a hotel or something,” he admitted reluctantly. Because Drift was right. Ratchet _did _want to live a long, happy life with many more evenings like this one. 

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to find one. There are a lot of people here from out of town for the festival.” 

Ugh. Now, instead of trying to stay awake on a long drive, he’d have to stay awake while calling around to find a hotel with a vacancy. At least he could sit while he did that. Maybe drink some double-fired energon to help him keep alert. 

“You could come home with me,” Drift said softly. 

Ratchet’s spark leapt with joy, but his mind told him it might be a mistake. Drift hadn’t taken him home that first night. He’d said he wasn’t ready. 

But they hadn’t been kissing, that first night. 

Did the kissing make it better, or worse? Perhaps Drift needed space to think about what they’d done together tonight. To make sure he was okay with kissing someone who wasn’t his conjunx. 

Maybe _Ratchet _should take some space too and think about what he wanted from this mechanism who wasn’t Dreddlock. 

He definitely shouldn’t listen to the foolish part of himself that was ridiculously thrilled at the idea of Drift taking him home. Even though he doubted he’d be able to stay awake for anything Drift might have in mind. He hoped Drift would be okay with that. Drift was welcome to do whatever he liked while Ratchet slept, if only he could wait until morning for Ratchet to join in… 

“We…I have a guest room,” Drift continued. “You could sleep there.” 

Ratchet shoved his randy thoughts aside. He didn’t have the energy to make good on fantasies tonight. Besides, Ratchet could tell that Drift’s suggestion was in fact a boundary. Last time, Drift hadn’t been ready to take Ratchet home with him. Tonight, he was making an exception so Ratchet wouldn’t have to drive. In exchange, Ratchet ought to be a gentlemech and stay in his own berth. 

“I’m sure I’ll be out the second my head hit the pillow,” Ratchet admitted. “Thank you.” 

“Gotta take care of you, Ratch.” Drift flashed an easy smile. 

“Thought it was the other way around,” Ratchet shot back as he struggled to his feet. Drift stood up in one easy movement and held out his other hand to help Ratchet up. Ratchet swallowed his pride and took it. 

Even after he was standing, Drift didn’t let go of his hand. 

* 

Drift and Ratchet of Vaporex had lived together in what was still a very nice condo. It was plenty big enough for two mechs to live comfortably, without being gratuitously large. Instead of sporting a trendy look that would look outdated in a matter of decades, the condo was designed in a classic style that would look good for centuries to come. It was decorated simply but attractively, and had been painted far more recently than Ratchet’s old, worn-out apartment. 

Ratchet of New Vaporex hesitated on the doorstep. He’d been so caught up with thoughts of Drift—and, yes, of Drift in a berth—that he hadn’t thought about the fact that he was stepping into his other self’s life. 

“Come in,” Drift said softly. 

Ratchet steeled his nerves. He’d follow Drift anywhere. 

He stepped inside. 

Ratchet tried to focus on the things that were clearly Drift’s, like the Spectralist shrine in one corner of the living room, or the crystal bowl decorating a table in the front hall. But medical texts still filled a large bookcase taking up one whole wall of the living room, and very familiar diplomas and certifications still hung on the wall in a room with two workstations, one piled high with knots of fortune and blessing scrolls and half-burned incense sticks, the other neatly arranged and gathering dust. 

Drift lived in a home that looked as though its other owner might return at any moment and pick up his life where he left off. It made Ratchet uneasy for multiple reasons, none of which he could articulate. 

Ratchet tried not to think about that as Drift showed him to the guest room. It was pleasant, if somewhat impersonal. Double berth, bedside table with clock and comm unit, small holoprojector, chair. Pictures and artwork on the walls that looked like the kind commonly given as gifts to doctors who were acting as guest speakers at professional events. Ratchet swore he _had _one of those pictures: a gift from Sentinel Prime before the war. His was in a different frame. 

Ratchet stumbled towards the berth. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate this a lot.” 

“It’s important you get your rest.” Drift stood watching as Ratchet climbed into the berth. “I have to lead a sunrise ceremony tomorrow, so I might be gone when you wake up. Help yourself to fuel and the wash racks. You’re welcome to use the holo player if you’d like to watch a movie. I’m hoping to be home again around midday.” 

Ratchet wasn’t sure if he’d heard that right. Drift seemed to be saying that he wanted Ratchet to stick around until his work tomorrow was over. 

Ratchet of New Vaporex wanted that, too. That is, if he could bear to spend the day in the shadow cast by his other self. 

But that was a problem for tomorrow’s Ratchet. Tonight’s Ratchet was exhausted and he lay in a comfortable berth while Drift tucked a tarp around his shoulders. Ratchet usually couldn’t be bothered with a covering, but this one was soft, like a caress. It had a pleasant, if unfamiliar, scent. 

Drift leaned over and kissed Ratchet on the cheek. “Sleep well.” 

“G’night, kid.” Ratchet dimmed his optics and let out a long, slow breath. He felt as though he were sinking into the berth while that soft chamois cover stroked him all over. Part of him wished Drift was laying next to him. 

He had just enough time to wonder whether he’d get to kiss Drift tomorrow before sleep claimed him. 


	7. Things to Do at Home

Chapter Seven: Things To Do At Home 

The alarm went off, and Drift woke up alone in the berth he’d once shared with Ratchet. 

Ratty’s scent was fading now. Drift wondered if he really could smell his conjunx, just a little, or whether his recollections of Ratchet’s scent were so strong in this place that he could conjure up a memory just by thinking about it. 

Ratchet had died in this berth. 

In his final days, Ratchet had asked to come home from the hospital. There was nothing the doctors or nurses could do any more to prolong his life by any significant degree. They certainly couldn’t improve his quality of life. To Ratchet’s mind, his last weeks of life were better spent in palliative care at home, with his conjunx, in familiar surroundings. 

One day, Ratchet went into recharge and never woke up. His fuel pump kept beating a slow rhythm, each stroke infinitesimally slower than the one before. 

Drift had lay with him for several weeks after that, keeping him company. Ratchet had rested easily, his features unmarred by pain. Drift didn’t know if he could hear him, but he talked to him anyway. He read books, talked about his day, sang every song he knew. Sometimes, when Drift stroked him, Ratchet smiled in his sleep. 

Drift had been recharging next to Ratchet when the final shutdown took place. 

Sometimes Drift wished he’d been awake, to bear witness to Ratchet’s spirit leaving its body. Other times he felt that all he would have done would have been useless fretting and wailing. Ratchet had not needed emergency responders answering Drift’s frantic messages that his conjunx was dying. Ratchet had not wanted to be resuscitated, knowing he’d only shut down again in a matter of days. Ratchet had crossed peacefully, curled up with his conjunx at his side, warm and safe, content at the end of a long and good life. 

But now Drift lay in this berth alone, staring at the ceiling. 

Ratchet had wanted him to move on. To keep finding joy in life. Maybe even to find someone else to care about. 

Drift had been certain he’d never do that. His entire life, he’d never felt for anyone else what he’d felt for Ratchet. 

Would it make any difference, if the person he moved on with was another Ratchet? 

It felt like the only acceptable option to Drift. But would it have changed Ratty’s mind? Would he have said, _move on—with anyone but another me?_

Drift sat up in the berth. He could drive himself mad imagining these things. The truth was that he could never know what Ratty would have thought about his new relationship with Ratchet of New Vaporex. All he knew was that Ratty had wanted him to find joy in life, and that kissing Ratchet of New Vaporex made him feel that the future might hold something worth looking forward to. 

But for now, Drift had a morning service to lead at the Spectralist Temple. He got out of the berth, washed and polished his frame, and drank an energon cube to refuel, all of it as quietly as possible so as to let Ratchet sleep. Recovery from his spark burnout was not a sure thing. Effort would be required to ensure Ratchet got better. Ratchet didn’t need Drift waking him up. 

Drift hesitated in the doorway to the guest room. 

He could see the outline of Ratchet’s form under the covers. Ratchet lay still…so still…but Drift’s keen hearing picked up the sound of air whistling in and out of the medic’s intakes in a slow and steady rhythm. Ratchet was deep in recharge. Perhaps so deep that a kiss on the cheek might not wake him up. 

But Drift didn’t chance it. He _thought _Ratchet might like a kiss, given last night’s events, but he still didn’t _know _for sure, and so it would be better to wait until Ratchet was awake to weigh in on what he did and didn’t want to do. Drift certainly wasn’t about to wake Ratchet up to ask now. 

Drift left the apartment on silent feet and locked the door behind him. 

Now he had to go play the part of Spectralist priest and try not to think about his…courtmate? sound asleep in his apartment. 

That was easier said than done. 

# 

It wouldn’t go down in history as the best service Drift had ever led. His chanting had been off-key and he’d completely forgotten which homily he had intended to use. Still, several visitors to the temple had remarked on how interesting and edifying the service had been, and none of his usual parishioners felt the need to give him feedback, so Drift was willing to accept that the service had been good enough. 

He was really going to have to find a better balance between his spirituality and his current obsession, which he’d left sleeping back in his apartment. 

Drift said his goodbyes, changed shape, and drove home. Excitement fizzed in his fuel lines, thrummed in his circuitry. He reminded himself that Ratchet might be gone by the time he got back. He was excited anyway. 

Drift opened the door of his apartment quietly, in case Ratchet was still sleeping. Drift felt his fuel tank sink. Had Ratchet gone home? Or was he so worn out after yesterday that he was utterly exhausted? 

“Hey,” came a familiar voice from the living room. 

Drift didn’t bother to hide his smile as he closed and locked the front door behind him. 

Ratchet set a mug of energon and a datapad down on the coffee table and rose to his feet. “Welcome h…” 

Ratchet cut off mid-sentence, his face falling as though he had started to regret his words halfway through speaking them. This wasn’t his home, and worse, he wouldn’t want to step into the role of the Ratchet whose home it had been. 

But Drift wasn’t bothered. He practically bounced into the living room and up to Ratchet. “It’s good to be back.” 

Flustered, Ratchet looked down at the end table. “I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to some energon.” 

“You gotta keep your strength up,” Drift said gently. “Did you have a good rest?” 

“Yeah, I…I did.” Ratchet seemed almost shy. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m still here.” 

“What? I’m _glad _you’re still here.” Drift couldn’t resist catching Ratchet’s hands with his own. “I’m free the rest of the day.” 

“So you could drive me back to Adaptica then.” 

“Or…” Drift bit his lip, wondering if he had the nerve to make this suggestion. 

“Or what, kid?” 

“I don’t have to work again until the midnight vigil tomorrow night so…I could drive you back to Adaptica tomorrow afternoon.” 

Ratchet was silent. Drift blurted, “But I know you’re busy and probably have stuff to do at home so we can get ready to leave whenever you want.” 

Ratchet looked at the floor. “Do you know what I’m going to do at home?” he asked, so quietly Drift could barely hear him. 

It really wasn’t any of Drift’s business. Yet Drift felt as though Ratchet had asked the question because he wanted to talk about the answer. “Do you want to tell me?” Drift asked, gently squeezing Ratchet’s fingers. 

“I’m going to invent busywork to keep myself from thinking about how alone I am,” Ratchet admitted. 

“So you’re telling me you’d find it easier to focus on your recovery if you stayed here.” 

Ratchet looked up sharply. “I can’t stay here and spend all my time in bed.” 

Drift must have been grinning like an idiot, because Ratchet suddenly flushed, as though only belatedly realizing the innuendo in what he’d said. 

“You’re only allowed to spend all your time in bed if you promise to spend at least some of it resting,” Drift teased. 

Ratchet swallowed hard, but his optics grew soft. “I think that’s up to you, Drift.” 

Drift felt his mouth go dry. 

He wasn’t ready to…he couldn’t…no. This was far too soon. Drift’s thoughts were still an ecstatic fizz of excitement and anticipation after the events of last night. The wise thing to do would be to take it slow. Drift wouldn’t be able to bear it if they did something that Ratchet came to regret. 

_ I can’t hide my issues in a whirlwind courtship. Ratchet can’t be yet another drug that helps me lose myself. _

On the other hand, going slow wasn’t the same as stalling entirely. 

Drift put his hand over Ratchet’s cheek. “I’m going to take good care of you.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Ratchet or remind himself. 

Then his lips met Ratchet’s and the difference no longer seemed to matter. 


	8. You're Supposed To Be Nice

Chapter Eight: You’re Supposed To Be Nice 

Ratchet felt Drift’s mouth cover his own, claiming him, marking him. He supposed he deserved this. He’d made a thoughtless innuendo and Drift had pounced all over it. 

Or perhaps his subconscious was just more honest about what it wanted. 

Still, Ratchet couldn’t tell if the tension thrumming through his systems was excitement or apprehension. 

Drift of Rodion was gorgeous. He held Ratchet’s hand with such a warm and gentle touch as he led him through the doorway of the guest room, over to the big berth where Ratchet had slept last night. He looked at Ratchet the way he’d looked at the fireworks last night: utterly dazzled, hopelessly entranced. 

Apparently there was still something in Ratchet that was foolish enough to be moved by a light caress and a tender expression. 

Yet Ratchet still thought that Drift’s soft smile could sharpen into a predator’s snarl without warning. 

Perhaps his subconscious just wanted to get this over with. 

Ratchet’s thoughts were in a tangle. He didn’t know how he felt, or what precisely he wanted. But he didn’t have to. What he wanted had never mattered before. 

When they arrived at the side of the berth, Ratchet laid down, quietly, obediently, and waited. 

Drift slunk up onto the mattress, lithe and beautiful, sleek and dangerous. He was more streamlined than Dreddlock. Lighter. Faster. The Functionists had wanted their Dreddbots to project an aura of immoveable force. This Drift was more like the Drift that Ratchet had known in the Dead End, gorgeously aerodynamic, but also sharper. More lethal than the lost addict who posed the greatest danger to himself. This Drift was elegant and ritualized and fatal like that blade that he carried on his back, the one with the crystal at its base and the ornate Old Cybertronian runes carved into its length. The sword was a holy relic, but no less deadly for its religious significance. 

Drift knelt over Ratchet, looking down at him with an inscrutable expression. 

Primus, but he was beautiful. Ratchet could not understand why, of all the people to take an obsession to, Drift of Rodion had chosen _him_. With looks like those, Drift should have his pick of eligible mechanisms. 

That had been true back when Drift had first climbed out of the gutter, and it was even more true now, when Drift had a social position of his own and a fortune of his own to go with his lovely frame. What could a worn-out retired medical administrator possibly offer someone who was gorgeous, successful, and rich? Drift could be entertaining himself with any number of cute young mechanisms who wanted money, power, and a lover as pretty as they were. 

If Drift wasn’t deluding himself—if he wasn’t chasing the shadow of his lost conjunx—then what could Ratchet of New Vaporex offer on his own merit to be worth Drift’s time, other than a long-ago rescue, millions of years and two wars ago? 

Ratchet gazed up, seeing his face reflected in Drift’s optics, wondering what Drift could possibly find so compelling about a semi-retired medic with failing hands. 

“Tell me what you want,” Ratchet whispered. From his frame or from their relationship, Ratchet would give it, if only he knew what Drift desired. 

Drift stroked his cheek. “I want you to tell me what changed your mind.” 

“Huh?” Ratchet was utterly befuddled by this request. 

Drift vented a sigh. “Something changed last night. We were walking together to the park like regular friends and then, without warning, you dragged me into that alley. Up until that moment I had no idea you wanted anything from me other than companionship.” 

Ratchet felt guilty. “I wasn’t fair to you. All the time I spent fussing that you might be mixing me up with your conjunx—on purpose or by accident—and there I was, mixing you up with Dreddlock. I offered you what he would have wanted.” Ratchet fumbled with his fingers. “Because the only degree of control I’d get was sometimes being able to choose when to start it.” 

Primus, how often had Ratchet provoked Dreddlock just so he could have that one tiny fragment of control? 

Drift bit his lip. Ratchet caught a glimpse of a long, sharp incisor and was reminded all over again that the kind and respected priest came from the same place as Dreddlock. “Then I kissed you, instead.” Drift looked away. “I totally misread you.” 

“Kid, I’m not sorry you did…” 

Drift wrenched his gaze back to Ratchet. “From what you’ve told me, the other me was a bully and a predator, and he hurt you. Me making a move on you should be the last thing you want.” 

That was a logical conclusion that made sense, but so little about his relationship with Dreddlock had made sense. Ratchet couldn’t help blurting his thoughts out loud. “You treating me the way I _wished _he had? It was everything I was afraid to ask for from you. Because…” Ratchet gestured to the room around him, unwilling to say _you’re a recent widower _and unable to find any other words to express the concept. 

“So you don’t mind? That I have…a thing for you?” 

“_Mind_, I’m _thrilled_, but I had no idea. I wasn’t sure you weren’t just humouring me to be nice.” 

“Nice,” Drift repeated blankly. 

“You’re a priest. You’re supposed to be nice. To care about people you don’t even know.” 

“I used to think the same about medics,” Drift shot back. 

Ratchet blinked, stunned into silence. 

Drift continued. “Meanwhile, I didn’t want _you _to think I just wanted a frag or a…a replacement for someone I’ve lost. I want to be part of your life, Ratchet. That’s the most important thing. More important than a courtmate, or a frag buddy, or whatever else might come out of this. If what you wanted, what you needed, was a companion, then that’s what I would be, and I wouldn’t gamble it by pushing for something you weren’t interested in. Because I care about you, and I want to be here for you, whatever you need from me.” Drift drew in a ragged breath. “Until that alley, I had no idea you thought of me as anything other than a friend.” 

“I don’t know what I thought of you as,” Ratchet said honestly. “All I know is that you saved my life, the way I saved yours back then, and it was way back then that I realized I cared about you, that you were special. But everything else I thought I knew about you came through the lens of someone who called himself Dreddlock, and I’m only just now realizing that he’s not you, and you’re not him, and I’m not sure I know you at all.” Ratchet dimmed his optics. “But I want to.” 


	9. Whatever You Want

Chapter Nine: Whatever You Want 

This was a serious and important conversation. Drift should think of a meaningful answer. 

Instead, he reached down and gently kissed Ratchet on the lips. 

Maybe they were moving too fast. Perhaps it would be a better idea to take a step back and think about all this: what it meant, what Drift wanted, what he’d do if it didn’t turn out the way he hoped. 

Yet when Ratchet returned the kiss, Drift’s arms seemed to move of their own volition and fold themselves around Ratchet’s shoulders. It felt inevitable that Drift should settle his body against Ratchet’s. There was magnetism between them, a force of nature pulling them together. All they needed to do was let it happen. 

Drift wasn’t sure how much time went by with the two of them exchanging tender kisses, while Drift lay on Ratchet’s strong and supportive torso, and Ratchet’s clever hands sought out the seams along Drift’s sides. Ratchet’s frame was warm, not hot. His fans cycled lazily on a low setting, just like Drift’s did. Drift wanted Ratchet, but he didn’t want to interface. He wanted to explore his lover…taste him…caress him…melt into him. 

Drift startled when he realized that what he should be doing was keeping up his end of the conversation. 

“Sorry,” Drift gasped when their lips parted. “We’re supposed to be communicating, aren’t we?” 

Ratchet smiled up at him with a slightly dazed expression. “Seems to me we’re communicating just fine.” 

Drift couldn’t help but smile. “Want to switch?” 

Ratchet’s optics flickered in a blink. “Sw…you mean, me, on top of you?” 

“Are your joints aching?” That was the most common reason Ratty sometimes hadn’t wanted to be on top. When his joints were sore, he found it more comfortable to lay on his back, head propped up on the pillow, and let Drift do most of the work spoiling him rotten. 

“No,” Ratchet of New Vaporex said numbly. “It’s just…I mean, I’m not much to look at. Probably look ridiculous. Sitting on you like I’m the pretty one.” His optics flickered wildly. “I’m a boxy old hauler. Better for carrying weight.” 

“I do like letting you carry my weight,” Drift purred. “There’s just…some things I can’t do from where I’m sitting.” 

Drift read the question on Ratchet’s face. But he also read the gleam in Ratchet’s optics. “Whatever you want, kid,” Ratchet said. 

If his tone had been one of resignation, Drift would have changed his mind. But Drift was sure he heard curiosity, even eagerness, in Ratchet’s voice. Ratchet might not know what Drift was thinking, but Drift was pretty sure that Ratchet wanted to find out. 

Drift trembled with excitement as he slid off Ratchet and went to take his position lying on his back in the middle of the berth. Ratchet looked a little uncertain as he clambered on top of Drift. Drift reached out and gently gripped his hips, pulling him down into a stable position. Then he let his hands slide up Ratchet’s spinal strut until they settled on the sweet spots under Ratchet’s shoulder blades. 

Drift pressed ever so gently. 

Ratchet stared down at Drift, biting his lower lip with nervousness. 

Drift frowned. Pressed again, a little harder, rotating his fingertips in circles. 

Ratchet winced. 

Drift stopped. “Does it hurt?” 

“No, it’s fine.” 

_Fine _ really wasn’t what Drift had been going for. Ratchet had always found that touch relaxing before, so… 

It was Drift’s turn to wince. Ratchet of Vaporex had found that touch relaxing. In his final reconstructed frame. 

Ratchet of New Vaporex hadn’t had that rebuild. He still wore the older model frame that Drift’s conjunx had sported during the middle years of his life. 

The rebuild had involved rerouting a lot of Ratchet’s wiring. Ratchet’s sweet spots had been in different places on different frames. Drift had needed to re-learn how to touch his conjunx after their mutual rebuilds, just as Ratchet had needed to re-learn how to touch him. 

Drift would just have to open his memory banks for the early days of their relationship in order to recall where to find the special places that would produce the sensations he wanted. 

Or… 

Drift hesitated and decided not to do that after all. 

If Drift’s new courtmate was anyone other than Ratchet of New Vaporex, Drift wouldn’t have a historical cheat code in his memory banks. He’d have to explore his courtmate’s frame slowly and thoroughly, seeking out those sweet spots through trial and error. 

Ratchet of New Vaporex wasn’t just a mirror image of Ratty. He was his own mech, and deserved to be treated that way. 

Drift fanned out his fingers, gently stroking Ratchet’s back. 

But Ratchet must have seen Drift wince. “See? I told y…” 

“Be shoosh.” Drift lifted one hand and brought it forward to put his fingers on Ratchet’s lips. “It’s not your fault I’m going to need some time and some practice to figure out what I’m doing.” He tilted his head. “Give it to me?” 

“Well, when you ask that way,” Ratchet grumped, actually lifting his hands from Drift’s shoulders so he could fold them across his chest. 

“Let’s see what we can do about that smile of yours.” Drift probed with his fingers, searching, hoping he could find something before Ratchet lost his nerve…or before he lost his and opened those old memory files. He moved his right hand slightly and tried again… 

Ratchet gasped. 

_Gotcha._

“You like this, hm?” Drift asked. As if he couldn’t guess from the way Ratchet’s hands fell to his shoulders again and held on tightly. 

“Kid, that’s…that’s usually a medic’s game…” He hissed in a gasp of breath, no doubt guessing who Drift had learned it from. 

Before Ratchet could dwell on that thought, Drift’s other hand played down Ratchet’s spinal strut until it, too, found a place that got a reaction. Ratchet dimmed his optics. A moan slipped out of his mouth. 

Drift couldn’t be sure with his memory banks closed, but he was willing to guess that these sweet spots were two of the pressure points that helped Ratchet to relax. Drift’s conjunx had often asked Drift to touch them after a long, hard day at work. 

But Deadlock surfaced in Drift’s consciousness and suggested that there were _other _places that might be fun to touch. 

Instinctively, Drift’s hands shifted. His touch became a tickle, light and teasing, tantalizing. His fingers ghosted over and up under Ratchet’s plating until… 

Ratchet moaned. Loudly. An instant later his optics lit and his face fell into an expression of shock that would be comical if it wasn’t so damned satisfying. 

Drift tickled again, a bit harder this time. Ratchet moaned again despite himself. Another voice chimed in. 

_Oh, yeah._

Deadlock was hungry for more of this. 

Drift sought for reasons to rein in his darker impulses and came up with precious little. His vow to take this relationship slowly was a thin and insubstantial thread, no match for Deadlock, who needed a sturdier chain to curb his desires. Gossamer promises to himself meant nothing in the face of his sharp-edged hunger. They were a problem for Tomorrow Drift. 

On the verge of giving in, Drift scraped up one good reason to stop: the possibility that Ratchet wasn’t ready for this. If Ratchet didn’t want to, Deadlock’s snack would be soured. 

“What are you in the mood for?” Drift asked, his voice husky. “This?” He let his fingers rub Ratchet’s pressure points again. “Or…_this_?” Fingers slid suggestively along the underside of overlapping armour plates. 

Ratchet’s cooling fans clicked on. In a quavering voice he whispered, “Whatever you want, kid.” 


	10. Neither of Those

Chapter Ten: Neither of Those 

Ratchet listened to his own fans humming as his whole neural net lit up with pleasure and excitement. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d felt like this. For the past few years he’d been too tired to bother with self-service by the time he finally went to the berth. Working himself to exhaustion had been a headier drug than the halfhearted overloads he could coax from his aching frame. But under Drift’s clever hands, Ratchet’s body sang the way it had when he was young. It was all he could do to savour the pleasure instead of rushing headlong towards climax. 

Primus, where had the kid learned to do this? Playing with the sweet spots on the neural net was a trick medics typically used with one another. Most non-medics went straight for the old spike and valve, as though they were the only parts on the Cybertronian frame with any kind of sexual function. 

_He was married to a medic. Where do you think he learned it?_

And not just any medic. 

Ratchet realized he had no idea what kind of marriage Drift and that other Ratchet had shared. The more time he spent in Drift’s company, the more he understood that it must have been different from what Dreddlock had wanted from him. Dreddlock had always been chasing his own pleasure, heedless of who he hurt in the process. Drift, on the other hand, seemed entirely focused on revving Ratchet’s engine. 

Ratchet would be more than pleased to let him do it, were it not for the confusing history between Drift and his other self. Even now, Ratchet of New Vaporex admitted that he was too weak to put up any kind of resistance should Drift push him farther. Drift’s touch felt too good. He was going to let Drift do what he wanted, and he was going to feel guilty about it later, but not guilty enough to truly regret it. 

Except then Drift took his magical touch away and left Ratchet crying out in need. 

“That’s not enough,” Drift whispered. His optics shimmered, as though this hurt him as much as it hurt Ratchet. “Ratch, you gotta tell me what you want.” 

Ratchet bit his lip. That was really going a step too far, wasn’t it? 

It was one thing to let Drift have his way. He could tell himself later that he hadn’t really made the moves on a widower. He’d just been a passive participant. 

It was quite another to tell Drift that he wanted to overload until he cried. Or screamed. Or both. 

It was a different thing altogether, to become complicit. 

Ratchet turned his gaze away, unable to request either pleasure or platonic intimacy. 

“Oh,” Drift said. 

The sound was so quiet, and yet so agonized, that Ratchet dared to look back—only to see Drift shrinking back into the pillows, physically pulling away from Ratchet, twisting his fingers into the covering on the berth. All the while, Ratchet’s body screamed for Drift’s touch. 

“Why do you need me to say it?” Ratchet cried, frustrated, frightened by his utter inability to read this mech who wasn’t Dreddlock. 

“It’s no good,” Drift choked out, “if you don’t want to.” 

_Not wanting to _ was the farthest thing from Ratchet’s mind. He dared to lift his hand off Drift’s shoulder and stroke Drift’s cheek instead. 

Drift turned his head. Ratchet expected to get his fingers bitten. Instead, Drift thrust his head into Ratchet’s touch and dimmed his optics, as though all he wanted in life was Ratchet near him. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea,” Ratchet tried, his resistance crumbling. Primus, but he wanted to beg Drift to touch him. 

“Is it a bad idea to make you feel good?” Drift bit his lower lip with one of those long fangs. “Because that’s what _I _want. To see your smile…and know I put it there.” 

_There _ it was. Dreddlock’s shadow. A reminder that this mech had the capability to be everything Dreddlock was. A warning not to show vulnerability to a predator. 

Primus help him. Ratchet didn’t care. 

“Do you want that too?” Drift asked. 

Unable to speak the words, Ratchet nodded instead. 

That was apparently consent enough for Drift, whose hands returned to Ratchet’s back. Ratchet found himself hoping for the intense stimulation of the hot spots, but Drift chose the pressure points instead. Ratchet moaned and dimmed his optics anyway. 

“It feels…” 

Ratchet absolutely wasn’t going to say something noncommittal like _nice_, but he’d never been one for poetic drivel. His trysts during the war had skipped most of the niceties: both parties were there to frag until they forgot the things they’d seen, the things they’d done. It had been a fundamentally selfish act, forgivable because both participants sought the same thing. All Ratchet had wanted was a reminder that he was still alive, and, belatedly, to help another soldier remember the same. There had been precious little intimacy in those connections. 

“I feel…” This was easier. “I feel…_alive_…” In a way his wartime trysts had never granted him. “…with you.” 

Ratchet found it hard to think clearly. His frame relaxed under Drift’s clever touch. His brain felt fogged with a pleasant lightheadness that put engex to shame. His mind didn’t want to make the connection between the suggestion that something was wrong with this, with Drift and him and being alive. 

But he forced his optics open to see if Drift was all right. 

Drift’s gaze was steady as his hands slid back along Ratchet’s shoulder blades. 

Ratchet gasped. His fans kicked into a higher rotation. Pleasure roared down his spinal strut to the place where his pelvis rested on top of Drift’s. The place where their panels rubbed together. 

Drift smiled up at him, and though Ratchet didn’t believe in fanciful notions of the afterlife, he could only describe Drift’s smile as enraptured. Drift looked at Ratchet of New Vaporex as though Ratchet were the miracle. 

It was the smile that did it to him. 

Pleasure rose exponentially, too hot, too fast, and Ratchet had no means to slow it down, let alone stop it. A few simple touches and Ratchet had crashed through overload, trembling in Drift’s arms, his optics so bright he lost his vision, his mouth open in a cry he didn’t know if he voiced. 

With that powerful release came the absolute relaxation of oblivion. 

Ratchet tried to climb off Drift before he collapsed on top of him. He half-made it. 

Ratchet hit the berth with an awkward thud. A moment later, he felt Drift raising his head, slipping a pillow under it. He felt a soft chamois sheet settling around him. Finally, he felt Drift’s warmth curled against his chest. 

He had awareness enough to wrap an arm over Drift’s back before the darkness caught him. 

# 

Ratchet wasn’t certain how long he slept. He knew only that the pleasure he felt at slowly waking up in a comfortable berth with a mech in his arms faded into embarrassment when he recalled just how little it had taken to get him off and knock him out. He forced his optics to illuminate. 

Drift lay against his side, softly ventilating, with a content smile curving his lips. 

All Ratchet could do was stare. 

He’d seen this smile on Dreddlock, but only once or twice. It had been rare for Dreddlock to fall asleep in Ratchet’s presence. Ratchet suspected that it was not because Dreddlock thought Ratchet might harm him, but because he didn’t trust himself not to let his guard down in Ratchet’s presence. Ratchet knew Dreddlock would not want anyone to see him with such a soft expression. 

But just because Dreddlock felt tender emotions didn’t excuse any of the things he had done, and… 

Ratchet put a stop to those thoughts. 

_This isn’t Dreddlock. Any more than I’m Ratchet of Vaporex._

_What we have is something else that isn’t either of those things._

Ratchet didn’t know how long he lay there, watching Drift rest, before the light went on in Drift’s eyes and his smile broadened. 

“Did I wake you up?” Ratchet asked gruffly, cursing himself for whatever he’d done. 

“No,” Drift said. “I wasn’t in recharge. I don’t need it as often as you do.” 

“Sorry, kid, I…” 

Drift put a finger against Ratchet’s lips. “Be shoosh. First Aid said you need to recharge as much as you can during your recovery.” 

“What’s the fun of a companion who sleeps all the time?” Ratchet grumped. 

“It’s nice here.” Drift turned that dazzling smile on Ratchet and melted all the fear in Ratchet’s spark. “It feels good lying next to you.” His hand rose to rest on Ratchet’s cheek. “Besides, I need you alive and well.” 

_There_ . That was what Ratchet had been worried about. Reminding Drift of his dead conjunx. 

But there was nothing Ratchet could say in response. 

He had to prioritize self-care. He couldn’t put Drift through a second loss. Not even if he had no idea what Drift of Rodion saw in him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #
> 
> Next up...the truth about Dreddlock!


	11. Love Him, Hate Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been able to reply to everyone every time for all their kind comments but I wanted to say how much I appreciate each and every reblog, like, kudos or response. This was a particularly tricky chapter--the truth about Dreddlock--and I thank you all for your support.
> 
> #

Chapter Eleven: Love Him, Hate Him 

Drift had been enjoying the experience of dozing next to Ratchet of New Vaporex. It felt warm and comfortable, and for the first time in a long time, comfort wasn’t just something that happened to his body. Drift felt the comfort all the way down in his soul. Ratchet was actually taking care of himself, and as a result, he was recovering. He was going to be all right. 

_That’s not your Ratchet, _ said a voice in his head. 

Ratchet sat up in the berth, looked down at him, and said quietly, “If you could have anything at all right now, what would you want?” 

Uncharitably, Drift’s first thought was _my conjunx back_. 

But then he gasped, his back arching, his frame stiffening, as revelation hit him like a physical blow. 

Drift had never expected enlightenment to feel like he’d been hit by a truck—or a train. 

_Is that what I want?_

_ Really?_

_ If a transwarp portal opened right now, and Ratty walked through, and I went to him and left Ratchet of New Vaporex lying here all alone…is that really something I’d want? _

Drift felt a crushing sensation in his chest. 

Oh, it wasn’t that he didn’t miss Ratty. But his conjunx had said it himself: he’d had a good life, and he’d been blessed with the chance to see the end coming long enough to put his affairs in order and make his peace. Of course Ratchet of Vaporex had wanted as many more good days as he could possibly have. Of course Drift wished Ratchet had been with him longer. In the end, though, Ratchet had passed away peacefully, and though he’d remained an atheist, Drift could not help but feel that Ratchet had made his peace with God in some form or another. 

Drift could not say the same for Ratchet of New Vaporex. The mech next to him was in crisis far beyond the physical. Drift could not imagine abandoning him now. Thinking of his current companion all alone and adrift made Drift’s spark ache. 

_Ratchet of New Vaporex needs me now._

Drift longed for his conjunx’s presence, and probably always would. He had accepted the feeling now, and he was learning to live with it. It would never leave him, but as of late, and without chemical assistance, he hadn’t spent every waking hour grieving his conjunx. He’d actually thought about other things. He’d smiled and laughed and he’d meant it. 

He was beginning to embrace a new life, the way Ratchet had wanted him to. 

All of that hinged on the presence of Ratchet of New Vaporex in his life. 

Drift thought for a moment before he spoke. “I’d want to work through everything we need to work through to make this turn out right.” 

“This…” 

Drift felt shy. “Relationship, I guess.” He licked his lips. “Sometimes I sense something in you that feels like reluctance.” 

“I don’t want to put the moves on a widower,” Ratchet said bluntly. 

“Is that all it is?” Drift sat up too. “Because we’ve already talked about that. I know you and him are different people, even if you started out the same. I fell in love with the mech who saved my life long before I had the ability to understand what I was feeling.” Drift took Ratchet’s hand in his and thought about what Ratchet had said, right before they’d switched to making out as a form of communication. “You told me you were starting to sort out the differences between me and Dreddlock.” 

Ratchet winced. “I really don’t want to tell you how that story ended.” 

Drift felt a chill crawl up his spine. Ratchet was right. Drift still didn’t know how his parallel self had died. 

“And I don’t want to push,” Drift said. “But I can’t fight a ghost, Ratchet. Not without help.” 

Ratchet sighed. “You’re right. You do need to know.” He looked down at his hand in Drift’s. “I just don’t know where to begin.” 

Drift’s fuel tank turned over with foreboding. “You told me how the Functionists had offered your Drift an exemption from the “exile” the rest of the first wave cold constructed had to endure, in exchange for upgrading him into a Dreddbot enforcer.” 

“Dreddlock had been a mercenary and an asssassin before the Functionists forcibly recruited him. Dreddlock was… No. Dreddlock _chose to do _ some things that were frightening, and cruel, and selfish. He liked to come around on his patrols and harass me. At work. At home. On the street.” Ratchet curled his fingers into air quotes. “He “coincidentally” found himself on patrol wherever I happened to be. He liked to follow me. Chase away the people I was with. Push me to buy him things. He liked to make threats and try to scare me.” Ratchet dared to look at Drift, as though expecting Drift to be angry. “I didn’t date after things fell apart with Pharma. I didn’t dare. Dreddlock enjoyed terrorizing any mech who looked at me that way. I had trouble enough with Dreddlock harassing _Flatline _just for being my co-worker. He thought me and Flatline were too close for his liking.” 

Drift was horrified. He’d no doubt that Dreddlock had had feelings for Ratchet just as he did, but he’d chosen horrific ways in which to express them. “Twisted possessiveness that called itself love.” 

“He never said he loved me.” 

“But he was obsessed with you.” 

“Yes.” 

“He did this constantly?” The idea of Dreddlock tormenting Ratchet for centuries made Drift feel sick. 

Ratchet shook his head. “The Functionists kept him too busy for him to do it more than every once in a while, and Primus forgive me, but I was grateful for that. I knew they probably had him murdering and maiming other people, and I ought to keep his attention on me as much as possible. But sometimes I just needed a break.” 

Drift tried to pull his hand away. Ratchet tightened his grip. “I can’t believe you even want me touching you,” Drift whispered. 

Ratchet drew a ragged breath. “When I finally found my courage and joined Megatron’s resistance, Dreddlock came to my apartment in Iacon. He broke in, woke me up in the middle of the night, and told me I had to make a run for Adaptica. The Council had found out what I had done and they were coming to arrest me, and my only chance was to take shelter behind the rebel army’s lines.” 

Ratchet squeezed Drift’s hand. “At first I thought Dreddlock was trying to scare me again. This was the sort of thing he’d done before. Invade my private space and send me bolting off somewhere to respond to an emergency that didn’t exist, or away from a threat that never materialized. Spooking me so I’d move into a hotel with him for the weekend for my “protection” and his “entertainment.” I wanted to call his bluff. But I was tired from fighting the war and lying to the Functionists and day after day of more suffering than I could repair, so I played along, hoping he’d get bored and let me go back home.” 

Drift’s fuel tank churned. 

Ratchet continued. “I went underground for the last leg of the drive into Adaptica, driving through the sewers. I figured that if Dreddlock was telling the truth, the Functionists might be watching the gates above ground. The fact that Dreddlock hadn’t set me up with a hotel key or even an address that I should run to made me wonder if he was serious and not just toying with me for fun. The ambush confirmed it.” 

Drift gently stroked Ratchet’s shoulder with his free hand. 

“As you can tell, I lived.” Ratchet shivered. “As you can probably guess, Dreddlock didn’t. He fought off an entire Functionist division so that I could make it to the safety of Adaptica. And I…” Ratchet’s voice broke. “I just drove off and let him do it.” 

“Hey,” Drift said gently. “You weren’t a soldier, were you? You’d spent the previous four million years fixing rich people in Iacon, right?” 

“That’s right,” Ratchet said miserably, as he withdrew his hand from Drift’s and curled into himself. “I still should have stayed with him.” 

“You’d have both gotten killed. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted you to live. To help other people.” Drift hesitated. “I maybe think…and this is just a guess, but I’m probably closer to anyone else to the inside of Dreddlock’s head, and I’m going to suggest from firsthand experience that if he had any guilt at all about the kinds of things he’d been doing for the Functionists, or the kind of things he’d been doing to you, there might well have been a part of him that wanted to die. To go out doing something good.” 

Ratchet said nothing. Drift bit his lip again. 

“I’m surprised you even want to be near me,” Drift said. 

“I don’t understand,” Ratchet said slowly. “I don’t understand what I’m supposed to make of him. He hasseled me, and scared me, and…and hurt me, and then when it really counted he _died _for me. I know that doesn’t make up for everything evil that he did in his life. Or for the way he isolated me and tried to control me. But I can’t say I wanted him to die or go away forever, either. I only wanted him to stop being so cruel all the time, and he just wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.” Ratchet covered his face with his hands. “I loved him, I hated him, I don’t understand him and I can’t understand how I feel about him.” 

Drift felt his fuel tank plummet. “That means,” he whispered, “you can’t understand how you feel about me.” 


	12. Always Been Our Shadows

Chapter Twelve: Always Been Our Shadows 

Ratchet felt sick when he saw the look of utter despair in Drift’s optics. 

“No,” he said firmly. “I can understand just fine how I feel about you.” He steeled his nerves to reach out for Drift’s hand. Drift flinched, but let him take the hand into his. 

“In Maccadam’s, you told me about your friends Chromedome and Rewind,” Ratchet continued. “How the Rewind jacked into Chromedome’s head was a quantum duplicate of the first Rewind. Later, you told me about Brainstorm and why he was found innocent of calling the DJD to attack the duplicate _Lost Light_. Remember that?” 

“Because our Brainstorm didn’t do it,” Drift said slowly. “Because we couldn’t hold our Brainstorm guilty for something that other Brainstorm did.” 

“That’s right,” Ratchet replied. “You and me…we met in Rodion millions of years ago, and then our universes diverged and our dopplegangers became different people than us. So _you_, and _me_, have only recently re-encountered each other, after millions of years apart.” He leaned closer. “Drift, I can’t hold you responsible for any of Dreddlock’s choices.” 

Drift hung his head. “I still don’t see how you can look at me and not see him instead.” 

Ratchet sighed. He hated to confess his private thoughts out loud, but if this relationship had any chance at all, he had to be honest. “Sometimes I do,” Ratchet admitted. “It doesn’t always feel bad.” 

Drift’s head snapped up. “You mean you think about him and it’s not triggering or upsetting?” 

“Sometimes it’s upsetting,” Ratchet said. “Not always. Sometimes I look at you and I remember how he saved my life on the borders of Adaptica. How _you_ saved my life from spark burnout. Sometimes I remember the little gifts he brought me, like someone who’d had so much kindness beaten out of him that the most he could do was to leave little baubles in places where I’d find them after he was gone.” Ratchet sighed. “If I’m being entirely honest, sometimes I think about the hot look in his optics and instead of being scared like a sensible person, my engine revs instead.” 

Drift stared at him. “Really?” 

“Really,” Ratchet said. “When I tell you I’m ashamed, it’s not of my fantasies. Arousal is a funny thing, Drift. Some people get revved up imagining stuff they wouldn’t want to actually happen in real life. Some people cope with bad stuff in real life by imagining alternative scenarios. Froid would probably tell you that my fantasies lean on the good things about Dreddlock to protect my psyche from having to fully process the bad things, or that they give me a measure of control that compensates for the control I didn’t have in real life. I’m not sure. I’m not that kind of doctor.” 

Ratchet squeezed Drift’s hand. He struggled to look Drift in the optics. “No, the thing that shames me is that for all this time, I’ve been fussing about whether you’re only interested in me as a replacement for your conjunx, when the truth is that all along I’ve been seeing Dreddlock when I looked at you.” He bowed his head. “It was wrong of me, Drift. For good or ill, I’ve been assuming you were someone else. Someone I now know you aren’t.” 

Drift let out a slow breath. “So considering there was some good stuff about Dreddlock...and some stuff that revs your engine…do you still want me, if I’m not him?” 

Ratchet nodded, not trusting his voxcoder to work. 

Drift’s whole frame sagged with relief. He slid closer to Ratchet, leaning on his shoulder. 

“Please forgive me, Drift,” Ratchet whispered. “Forgive me my hypocrisy. Forgive me…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “For wanting you, even though my recovery’s not guaranteed.” 

Drift stiffened. “I thought First Aid and Flatline said you were doing well.” 

“I am,” Ratchet said hastily. “But _doing well _isn’t a promise. So little in medicine is a promise. I’m improving right now, yes, but I could plateau before I fully recover. Or I could get better for a while and then start getting worse again, and maybe this time there isn’t anything that can stop it.” 

Ratchet wanted to lean on Drift for support, but he didn’t feel he had the right. It wasn’t fair to cuddle up to someone while talking about how the relationship might require more than Drift was willing or able to give. 

“And I’m afraid. Afraid of dying, yes. But more afraid of putting you through the same horrible experience a second time.” 

“What’s the alternative?” Drift said quietly. 

Ratchet blinked. “What?” 

“I said, _what’s the alternative_?” His optics blazed fiercely. “What, I dump you now because I’m afraid I might lose you later? So I lose you now instead? Like that’s any better?” 

Ratchet had no response to that. 

“Is dumping you supposed to magically turn off my feelings for you? Because, news flash, it won’t.” Drift jerked his lips into a smile that looked more like a tooth-baring snarl. “I don’t see I have a hell of a lot of choice here but to protect you as far as I’m able and hope for the best.” 

Ratchet felt hopeful and hated himself for it. “That’s not fair to you.” 

“What in my life has been _fair_?” Drift shot back. 

“I-I’m…” 

Drift’s challenges had not been Ratchet’s doing. He could not apologize for things that weren’t his fault. Yet it hurt him to think of them. “I’m sorry it’s been that way for you,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I’m the cause of more problems instead of the solution.” 

“Hey,” Drift caught Ratchet under the chin and lifted his face. “You’re feeling bad because you want to offer me a fairy tale and the best you’ve got is filled with uncertainty and pain and a very real risk of death?” 

Ratchet nodded as best he could with Drift still holding his chin. 

“Ratch, we’ve _always _been together with pain and death around us. From the very first moment I woke up on your slab in Rodion. From Dreddlock giving his life for yours. From me almost dying of red rust infection on the roof of the hospital in Delphi, crawling up there to save a medic who seemed to take delight in grinding my gears. To me seeing you in that crypt and knowing that you were dying and I might be able to do something about that.” He leaned in closer until their lips were almost touching. “And if it’s too late to stop it, then it’s not too late for us to make the most of the time we have together. But don’t be afraid of pain and death. They’ve always been our shadows. They stand in such strong contrast to the light we shine together.” 


End file.
